Oh look, it's Dietrich

So I finally finished going through the confessional post this year; there went my week. ;) I'm still not entirely sure why I let myself get caught up in it every year. It has this incredibly compelling quality I can't define, even if I skip the parts that contain ugly drama.

The thing that struck me, though, was this. I'm usually mentioned in the confessional, if only once or twice, and so far, always favorably. But I notice that what people usually have to say is that I'm sexy (about which I cannot complain), and further, that I have some kind of untouchable/mysterious/sensual/powerful quality that makes them afraid to talk to me.

And all I can think is, really? Still? I know I don't spend as much time as I could in the company of the core group that tends to most participate in the confessional. But I feel like I am out there to a certain degree, I'm very public about who I am, and I try to be friendly when I'm not feeling too introverted or crazed. I guess it keeps surprising me that there are people who think I'm scary. The encouraging thing, I guess, is that I figure the people whom I find intimidating probably feel the same way about themselves: i.e., I shouldn't really be afraid to approach them. :)

But I guess I wish that if I were going to get mentioned, someone would say, "I love her writing," or "Her show was really good," or "She really helped me this one time." I mean, I know it's ultimately a crush meme, but somebody started this "fan letters" trend of suggesting people to say nice things about, and it was neat to see the kinds of nice things that people noticed about each other. It took such a long time in my life for me to feel as though I were seen at all; it's a very special gift to be seen accurately, and it's one of my favorite things when it happens.

I'm finally jumping on the goddamn bandwagon. I hear you have to or something if you're a writer on the Internet. Grumble.

So: who's got one? Whom are you following? How do you make use of this thing?

(I'm on there under my full name, no spaces.)

Okay! So here's the final furniture disposal plan!

We're going to salvage the living room furniture, which most likely isn't infested anyway, using high-heat steam and heavy-duty pesticide.

We're still going to get rid of the bedroom stuff, though, and to do it, we need your help! (muffyjo, I'm looking at you!)

On Saturday night, we'd love it if some of y'all came over with power tools and helped us saw apart our bedroom furniture, then haul it downstairs in contractor bags. If someone has the chutzpah to bring a burn barrel, we can go with the original burn plan, but chopping it up should at least keep people from taking it.

The usual pizza and beer clauses apply. :)

Please let me know if you can help us accomplish this! (We don't have a saw!)

From roozle:


redheadedmuse and I were brainstorming about how to help a beloved friend who is feeling the pinch financially more than most. Short of a fabulous job, the most helpful thing we thought we could give her was some cash.

So we'd like to help her out in a small way by hosting an on-line bake sale. If you're interested in baking something for this project, fill out the form we've created at
http://bit.ly/TquHf. Next week, we'll post up all the entries on the lj site we created, pastrypleasures.livejournal.com, and auction off the items through the blog. All the items will need to be available to be picked up at 110 Boston Ave. on or before Friday, July 24 at noon.

We're already going to have some delicious stuff by talented bakers, but more would be helpful. Fill out the online form by Friday, July 17 if you want to contribute. Even if you don't bake, you can help: spread the word and help us find people who want to bid on and eat tasty baked goods. Post here or email [roozle] privately if you have questions.

I was in my local liquor store today, buying a couple of bottles of wine for the house. The owner is behind the counter but is busy on the phone ordering cigarettes, getting a cynical kick out of the candylike flavors. He gestures to another woman, who comes behind the counter, having just been outside. Taking off her coat, she releases a shiver into the warmth of the store.

"It's so cold out," I say.

"It's not cold yet, from what they're sayin'."

I offer a look of appropriate dread, as she takes my credit card. While it's processing, she takes a look at her watch and sighs.

"Long day, huh?"

"Five o'clock," she mutters.

"Well," I say, "at least it always comes."

"Unfortunately," she says, and I look at her with some surprise. "We wish our lives away," she says. "It goes so fast when you're having a good time."

I feel a certain sadness grip me as I put my credit card away. I look her in the eye as I take my bag. "Do more of what you love," I say. She laughs, not cynically. "And have a good one."

It's nights like this that I'm proud to be an American. Or something.

Tonight, my beloved imlad and I kept to a tradition we'd been exercising for a few years. We have these friends who live in Beacon Hill, and from the rooftop of their apartment building, you get a spectacular view of Boston's fireworks display.

Now these friends are people imlad knew before he met me. That is, well, they're mundanes. Mind you, they're awesome mundanes. Smart, funny, interesting people, into ancient Greece and modern art, who invite people over who are usually the same sorts of mundanes. We are, in a sense, their pet freaks, and we enjoy being so, and now and then we meet people there who look like they could be pushed over the edge with a feather.

This time, though, the gathering was smaller. Our favorite couple there was now a single, the wife having split and moved to Atlanta. The cooler people we'd met in the past were absent. Our host's busybody older sister and her obnoxious husband were there. We had some chit chat and some nice food, and then headed up to the roof to await the fireworks display.

All around were the other denizens of the building, most of whom seemed to be young and annoying, the types who yell inane things like "YEAH baby! DO it!" every time a big firework explodes. And as I sat and waited for the festivities to begin, I realized a profound truth that doesn't often occur to me anymore in my life: I was bored.

I had spent the afternoon surrounded by people I know and love. My people; my community. I'm very lucky to spend so much time in their embrace, enveloped in their love, sharing food and booze and touch and watching their kids run around underfoot. I don't think I express my gratitude often enough for the fact that, essentially, I'm shielded from the world by a different, smaller world that is being created, day by day, by the awesome people who surround me.

And here I was, on a rooftop in Beacon Hill, surrounded by the kind of people who would bring a television out onto a roofdeck so as, presumably, to watch the fireworks on television and in real life at the same time.

As if to make the final point, the fireworks began. And while at first they were very lovely as always, as the show went on, it began to generate so much smoke that eventually the fireworks couldn't be seen at all. The finale was a series of degenerate booms ringing out over a cheering crowd, who were probably actually crying out their dying breaths before they asphyxiated. Even the one thing that seemed like a guaranteed good time failed us this year, the spectacle we'd come for literally lost in a puff of smoke.

We flowed down the stairs and flopped on the couch, where we watched the post-processing on the local news while we waited out the first wave of people leaving the Esplanade. After a hyper-cheery report on the just-finished fireworks display, which apparently thrilled everyone to death (maybe literally) in spite of the fact that nobody could see it, the news did an editorial piece on why people in Massachusetts are really patriotic, in spite of the fact that Massachusetts is one of the bluest states in the nation.

Let me just say that again so it sinks in.

Even though Massachusetts is a really blue state, its citizens love celebrating their patriotism!

Because we all know that liberals and Democrats hate America.

So this was the idea of the report. The substance? Showing the happy people gathered on the Esplanade in front of the Hatch Shell, bedecked with styrofoam Liberty spikes and waving the American flag, smiling empty, vapid smiles while listening to the Pops grind out Tchaikovsky for the nth time (a tune, by the way, commemorating Russia's defeat of Napoleon in 1812, not our defeat of the British) while fireworks explode over their heads (or at least that's what it sounded like). Then, showing people in other cities, protesting the government's actions! Gasp! Horrors! People who disagree with the government!

How unpatriotic. Juxtapose that with a heartwarming story about a father and son who just came home from serving in Iraq together (they're so proud), and there's your dose of news for the night.

By this point I was so depressed I started to fall asleep, so we said our goodbyes and walked out onto the street, where a sinister police helicopter was circling, shining a searchlight into the alleys below. Streetlights flashed and the sidewalks swarmed with happy patriots trying to return to their homes. Outside of the Charles MGH station, these masses stood, waiting for the armed guards to let them pass in groups into the station.

Yes, really.

On the train home, my feet aching, I stood listening to the conversations around me. A loud man behind me said, "That's your problem, you're so negative about everything. That's why I hate my family. I hate them, because they're always so negative about everything, you know?!"

Do people even listen to what comes out of their mouths?

I don't have broadcast TV at home. The local news is telling people that dissent is unpatriotic, that they should be afraid to walk the streets at night, that being an American is about war and triumph and F15 flyovers and not about what freedom actually means. The circus we go through every year at the Hatch Shell celebrates all of that, and decides that the Raging Grannies in Portland Oregon or wherever are a bunch of commies who hate America.

And a 16-year-old looking kid stands outside the closing doors of a train and says, to someone safely crammed inside the car, "I'll kill you. I swear it. If I see you around, I'll kill you." I watch his dead eyes, flickering cold blue light like TV screens, as the train pulls painfully out of the station.

Back in Davis Square we meet somebody we know almost instantly; she comments on imlad's kilt as we mount the escalator. On the brick-lined street, a passing kid is singing "Holiday in Cambodia."

At last we're home, and I feel again the tenuousness of my position, the baby-fine but strong filament on which I soar in love. Those threads that weave themselves over me and my loved ones, in a web that I wish weren't necessary.

But it is. Because every time I venture into the larger world I'm reminded of one of the things that depresses me, and that I so wish weren't true: the vast majority of people are sheep. Docile, stupid, reactionary, ugly, greedy, empty-eyed consumers fueled by beer and fear. They're living the American nightmare. And only a very few will awaken in their lifetimes.

As we rounded the last corner to our house, a bumper sticker on a parked car caught my eye. Incongruously but piercingly, it said only, "Sift."

I'm just spinning some long-term thoughts here, but any leads would be appreciated.

On December 2, I'm having the Craig Lucas play, Reckless, read aloud at Theatre @ First to see if it's a viable candidate for production at said theatre. If I direct it, it would most likely happen next fall.

The play has two characters who are supposed to be fluent in sign, and another who learns it during the course of the show. I know very little sign, and don't feel confident that I can learn it fluently and accurately enough by next fall to teach the actors what they need to know to look convincing.

Is there anybody out there in LJ-land or in your extended network who might be interested in being an ASL consultant for a community theatre production next fall?

Hi, all,

imlad and I are looking to move into a place with queen_of_wands. Below is was we're lookin' for; let me know if y'all know of anything!


The following criteria are necessities:
-3 bedrooms, or 2 bedrooms with extra common space of some kind
-Laundry in building, or laundry hookups
-Some outdoor space - deck or yard
-Reasonable walking distance (15-20 minutes or less) to Davis, Porter, Harvard, Alewife, or Kendall T

These things would be excellent plusses:
-Dishwasher
-Hardwood floors
-Offstreet parking
-Pantry space
-Storage space
-First floor or first/second floor
-Pets okay (we currently have no pets)

Please contact us if you have anything to show! Thanks!

Hi, folks,

So I'm singing with this great little group called Calliope. We do concerts off-season: September and February, and 75% of our members belong to other groups in the area.

Currently we are about 28 singers, SATB, and a small orchestra. The emphasis is on approaching music from the inside out, discovering nuances of gesture and expression, especially in well-worn music, and presenting a unifed, balanced sound while calling on the individual talents and responsibilities of each and every performer.

We rehearse on Tuesday evenings from 7-9:30 in Back Bay, and our September concert is on the 15th.

This September we'll be performing the Faure Requiem (in its reduced, more chamberlike form, closer to Faure's original intent), two pieces by Samuel Barber, and four motets by Durufle.

If you are a baritone or bass who is interested in checking them out, let me know!

Hi, all,

My friends list, it occurs to me, has gotten out of control, and while I was away I met a bunch of new people to add.

So, as people do from time to time, I've effected a pruning.

If I've dropped you, it's probably because we haven't talked in forever, and it's very likely that you already dropped me.

If I haven't added you back, it's either because I don't know/trust you enough, or because I have no idea who you are! If you notice I haven't added you back and you think I should know who you are, let me know! If we haven't met in person, though, it's unlikely, still, that I'll add you back.

Then there's my default view. Even when I keep people on my friends list, I don't read everyone there - it'd take forever. But I leave you on because so many of my posts are locked, and I'm happy to have you read them if you are so inclined.

I've just changed up my default view and do so periodically, so sometimes I'll be reading you and sometimes not. So it goes!

Love to all.